


First, They Must Catch You

by October_sky



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catra (She-Ra) Leaves the Horde, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magicat Catra (She-Ra), Origin Story, Other, POV Alternating, Pre-Canon, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27942851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_sky/pseuds/October_sky
Summary: When Catra is 16, she runs.  Runs as fast and as far as her legs will carry her.  Runs from the only place (and person) that she's ever known, chasing whispers of a home she can barely remember.  Maybe some things are better left buried.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Kyle/Lonnie/Rogelio (She-Ra)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, as of 2/15 I just want to be clear that this fic isn't dead, just on extended hiatus while i work on some other stuff and retool my second half. It WILL come back eventually, I promise. Thank you so much for all the support so far <3

The skiff’s generator powers down with an abrupt  _ clunk _ , and Catra knows that her entire plan has already gone out the window. She can think about the long term if she manages to survive the next thirty seconds. As the skiff careens off course at top speed with unrestrained momentum, Catra desperately tries to recall her training. One of the first things they had been taught was how to use the counter-thrusters at the front to slow the skiff down, but that didn’t exactly work with no power. But there  _ had  _ to be something else. It takes a moment for the memories to click together in Catra’s brain.

The emergency airbrake had been taught to them as an absolute last resort, their instructor only even bothering to mention it because Kyle had managed to slam his skiff into a wall. Catra’s hands scramble under the console before coming to rest on the handle. She takes a breath, closes her eyes tight, and pulls as hard as she can.

Almost immediately, the back end of the skiff goes completely out of control, throwing itself from side to side like it’s some kind of wild animal trying to buck Catra off of it, her claws cutting into the side of the control panel as she clings on for dear life, but it's not enough. The skiff tips on its side, violently catapulting her into the air.

A strange peace overtakes Catra as she flies through the air, lanky body curled around her backpack. If she dies here, she can at least say that she  _ tried _ , and that she refused Shadow Weaver the pleasure of killing her personally. It’s not like anyone will miss her, anyways.  _ Except for Adora _

_ She’s lying in Adora’s bed, tears soaking through Catra’s shirt as the girl tries to bury herself in her shoulder like she might be able to pin Catra down and stop her from leaving. The worst part is that it almost works, the embers of doubt flaring in Catra’s mind until she manages to snuff them out. In all their years together, everything they’ve been through, Catra has never seen her cry like this. _

_ “You could still come with me, y’know,” she offers, barely above a whisper as she runs a hand down Adora’s back to try and calm her sobbing. She already knows the answer before she feels Adora shake her head. _

_ “I want to. More than I want anything else in the world,” Adora pulls back to look her in the eyes, and Catra knows that she means it. “But Weaver would come and kill you herself if she thought you had dragged me into it, and I would never be able to live with that.”  _

_ The fact that Adora is right doesn’t make it any easier for Catra to absorb, and if Adora wasn’t on top of her she would probably be digging her claws into whatever she could get her hands on. Instead she settles on committing as much of Adora to memory as possible, not knowing when she’ll get the chance again. Adora takes Catra’s hand in her own and squeezes hard. _

_ “I’ll find you. Someday I’ll get out and I’ll find you, I promise,” the tears in her voice have been replaced by resolve, that sheer force of will that Catra knows so well. “Please just… be safe, okay?” _

_ “I promise.” Catra squeezes Adora’s hand and desperately tries to shut down the nagging part of her brain that tries to tell her that Adora might feel the same way that she does. _

Catra’s entire body hurts so badly that her first thought when she wakes up in the dirt is that Weaver must have caught her. But this pain is different. No shock, just a thrumming, deep hurt like she’s been sparring all day but a million times worse. Eventually she manages to force her eyes open. She can’t die here, as much as she wants to.

The overturned skiff is about 40 feet away from her, or at least most of it is. The mast, most of the engines, and everything else attached to the main platform is scattered through the dirt at decreasing intervals where it had bounced off the ground. She was on foot from here.

For better or for worse, Catra had hit the ground before her backpack did, saving her supplies from the brunt of the impact. Half of her water supply is shot, the bottle slipping out of its holder mid-flight and shattering against the ground. It isn’t until she’s inspecting her rations that she finds the shrapnel, and the accompanying tear in the canvas. Catra’s eyes go wide as she remembers one other late addition to the pack, trying not to panic as she digs frantically through the bag. She feels like she’s on the edge of a breakdown when she finally lays hands on it, thanking whoever might be listening for the fact that it's still there and intact. She holds it tight, burying her face in it for a moment as she bites back tears. It’s rough, and too thin to provide any real protection from the cold out here, but it smells like  _ home _ .

The first traces of dawn are breaking now, the light filtering through the towers of the Fright Zone still looming in the distance. Adora would be up by now, if she had slept at all. Catra thinks of all the times that the two of them have watched the sun rise from the top of the foundry. Is she there right now, looking back at her across the impossible distance? 

A bird circles overhead, presumably trying to figure out whether she’d make a good meal or not, and Catra is suddenly acutely aware of how exposed her position is. Flat ground on all sides, nothing above her except the familiar smog from the factories. If she doesn’t make it to the tree line by the time the light reaches her, she’s almost certainly dead. Catra’s whole body is screaming out at her to rest as she pushes herself up, but she can’t stop now. She slings the pack over her shoulders, taking a deep breath and one last look back at the only place she’s ever known.

And then Catra  _ runs _ , as fast and as far as her bruised legs will carry her.

  
  


* * *

With any luck, this will be the last time that Catra ruins Shadow Weaver’s day.

Rage boils over inside her as the surveillance images come up on the monitor of Catra steering the skiff out of the docks. She should have disposed of the useless child the moment she was discovered. Instead, she had shown weakness, allowed Adora to get attached. She had hoped that the arrangement would at least help to keep  _ both _ of them in line, but that was clearly no longer the case.

“Commander? “ The voice of one of her officers pulls her out of her thoughts. “We have a visual on the skiff, but there's no sign of the girl. We can have a kill team en route in five if you’d like.” The young woman’s gaze is cast down to the floor.  _ Good. _ She has failed, and she knows it.

Weaver swirls her glass in contemplation. On the one hand, she’s tempted to make an example of Catra, have the kill team bring her back and string her body up on the walls to make sure the other cadets understand  _ exactly _ what the punishment for such behavior is. On the other, she’s happy to take this as a blessing in disguise, one fewer variable to account for in her grand designs, no longer having to expend the energy and resources to deal with her.

“Don’t bother” Weaver’s sharp voice echoes through the control room as the glass snaps in her hand. “Either the wastes will claim her or she will come crawling back to us. Either option is acceptable.” The woman scrambles to move out of the way as Weaver rises from the chair, gliding towards the window on a cloud of shadows with eyes narrow behind her mask as she gazes out over the barren landscape. “Have Adora pulled out of training and brought to my office. I want to find out what she knows.”

* * *

Lonnie’s knee catches Adora in the face with a sharp  _ crack _ , blood flying from her nose and splattering across the floor. She’s vaguely conscious of a whistle blowing somewhere on the sidelines, but she just stays on the ground, red stains gradually creeping down the arm clutching her face. Lonnie’s expression shifts when she meets Adora’s eyes, the edges of her smile dropping and her eyes softening out.

“Shit, I’m sorry goldie. I was gonna take it easy today, just wasn’t expecting you to lead with your face. Lemme help you up?” She says, reaching down and pulling Adora’s free arm around her shoulders to help her to her feet. 

Adora curses herself for being so obviously out of it as the shorter girl walks her back to lean against the wall. Lonnie shares a look with Rogelio and Kyle. News that someone had stolen a skiff had spread by the time breakfast rolled around, but Adora was fairly sure that her squad were the only ones who had put two and two together with Catra’s absence. They had offered to skip the normal session and hide out in their quarters with her, but routine was the only thing holding Adora together at this point. Besides, nothing to get you out of your head like getting hit a few dozen times.

Carefully, Lonnie sits her down on one of the benches in the locker room, Kyle sitting beside them with a first aid kit. Carefully, he tips Adora’s head back and presses a rag to her nose, letting Adora hold it in place while he wipes her blood-covered hand.

“Well, it doesn’t look like anything’s broken, at least.” he says after examining her face briefly. As useless as he was in combat, he would be a brilliant field medic if Weaver would actually let him transfer to the program, but Adora was grateful for that in moments like this.

“Shit, if I broke Adora’s face I don’t think Catra would ever let me-” Lonnie’s joke trails off into the void when her elbow finds air instead of the magicat that should be standing next to her. her face falls. Catra had run away before, sure. But she never actually went very far, usually settling for hiding in one of the base’s many warehouses until their CO calmed down a little. Never with this much  _ intent _ behind it.

Before Adora can pull out of her spiraling thoughts, Rogelio flashes a hand signal she doesn’t recognize, and the three of them have wordlessly shifted into a defensive formation around her, Rogelio placing his mass between her and the main entrance while Lonnie turns to watch the other door. It takes her another second to hear what he was reacting to, the distinctive  _ tap tap tap _ of steel-toed boots on tile. She doesn’t recognize the person who’s entered the room, but can tell by their badge that they’re a force captain before Kyle pulls her back out of view.

“At ease, cadets,” she says with a wave. None of them move. “The commander wants a word with Adora. The rest of you are relieved from duty for the day and may return to your quarters.” Lonnie turns her head slightly to lock eyes with Adora, still in a fighting position with one eye on the back door. 

Adora understands the question in her eyes intuitively, and responds with a slight nod. The look of concern on Lonnie’s face is sharper than it was earlier, but she still gives a low whistle in return, the trio dropping back to neutral positions just as quickly as they had been ready for a fight. Rogelio places a firm hand on her shoulder as she steps off the bench towards the door, and she can see the force captain shift uncomfortably as they register the implicit threat in his eyes. Some languages are universal.

The walk to Shadow Weaver’s office feels even longer and more ominous than usual, somehow. The halls are strangely empty, with only the rhythmic tapping of the force captain’s boots on the metal floor rising above the industrial hum as they walk in front of her. The woman is a little taller than Adora, maybe two or three years older. Her raven hair is tied back into a ponytail, a small silver ornament dangling from the cord holding it together, seemingly a contrast to the rest of her outfit and demeanor. Adora knows that it must have come from another soldier, a sign of great commitment when you could count your worldly possessions on one hand. Her heart aches as she thinks about the small gifts she and Catra had exchanged over the years.

Shadow Weaver’s door is open, the black garnet’s deep red glow cutting a sharp path through the shadows of the hallway. The captain motions for her to stay outside. Stepping halfway across the threshold to speak to the commander. Adora can’t hear what they say, but she can see Weaver’s arm and clawed hand cast a shadow across the hallway as she waves them off. They step out of the way, looking at Adora with pity as they send her in. Adora is clutching her arm behind her back, digging her fingernails in hard in an attempt to stop herself from shaking. This part of the plan is all on her.

“Thank you for coming so promptly, Adora.” Shadow Weaver starts, turning from her work to face Adora. Her voice is a far cry from its usual shriek, laden with something that  _ almost _ sounds like sympathy. “I’m sure you already know what I wished to speak to you about?” Adora nods, already reciting her cover story in her head. “Would you like to take a seat? I have no intention of punishing you today, I can assure you.” Of course not. It would be far too easy if all Adora had to do was endure a few blasts of dark magic until Weaver had satisfied her anger.

“Now, I know that you and Catra are…  _ close _ ,” There’s a tinge of venom in the last word as the witch lowers herself to Adora’s eye level. “Tell me Adora, did you notice anything out of the ordinary from her in the last few weeks? Stockpiling food, changes in attitude, anything like that?”

“No, nothing unusual really. She skipped some of her classes I guess, but it would be more surprising if she didn’t.” Adora says, all of her effort going into keeping her tone flat. Lying goes against her nature, but some corner of her brain manages to override that with the desire to protect Catra as much as she can. She just wishes it was easier to tell whether it worked. She tries not to flinch back as Weaver reaches out a hand to push some stray hair out of her face, nodding softly.

“I know this must be hard for you, but  _ any _ information that you can give us will be a great help in finding her, Adora. Was there anywhere that she talked about wanting to go?” Adora pretends to ponder the question for a moment, trying to hide the fact that she and Catra had decided on the best misdirect weeks ago.

* * *

_ Halfmoon. Catra is 12 the first time that she hears the name, an offhand reference from an older cadet walking down the hall, snippets of a conversation overheard from her hiding place in the vents. They’ve never spoken to each other, but he’s one of the few in the horde who looks like her. The word tugs at something in her brain, a strange familiarity that she can’t place. Whatever memory it calls to mind is buried deep, like trying to pull a book from the bottom of a stack. Catra turns it over in her brain a few times before she scurries back down the vents to chase after Adora. _

_ It’s two years later and the older magicat now wears a badge marking him as a force captain, and he’s been reassigned to Catra and Adora’s division. There are few enough like them in the horde that Catra is fairly certain that it isn’t a coincidence, a suspicion confirmed when she’s pulled out of tactics class (the one subject which Catra excels at) for additional training. _

_ ‘Specialist training’ turns out to mean ‘chasing each other around the junkyard for a few hours’, a chance for Catra to get some instruction on turning her instincts and enhanced senses into a weapon of their own. Catra is thankful for the opportunity to set them loose around someone other than Adora after so many years of her CO trying to beat them out of her. It isn’t until they stop for a water break that she notices the necklace, a shimmering crescent resting in the black fur where his neck meets his chest. The stack of books gets a little lighter, and she works up the courage to mention it. _

_ “Thank you, I got it at a market in Halfmoon. That was a long time ago, though.” A tinge of sadness leaks into his voice, but Catra doesn’t know why. The image is shaky in her mind, but she can almost make out herself walking through a crowd, streets lined with color. _

_ “Never went, huh? I suppose you are a little young” he says, seeing her wide eyes. “C’mon, I’ll show you” He leads her out, farther into the junkyards than she’s ever gone before, until they reach the wall that separates them from the wastes. He gently corrects her climbing form as they scramble up, and before she knows it they’re at the top looking out at the expanse of dirt. _

_ “Under there,” he says, stretching his arm out to point past the whispering woods at the mountain range that borders the kingdom of Dryl. “An entire city full of people like us. I haven’t been there since I was a kid, but it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.” The seeds of an idea begin to grow in the back of Catra’s mind _ .

  
  


Halfmoon? The tip of Catra's claw carefully traces the circle on the map Adora drew as she chokes down the ration bar. She doesn’t know how far she ran. She had planned to slow down when she crossed into the woods, but the adrenaline had convinced her to push herself further and further, trying to outrun the pain that she knew would come if she stopped. She might have run all the way to Brightmoon if she hadn’t tripped over a root and planted her face in the ground. She had tried to keep going, she really had, but apparently her body had decided that was a bridge too far. She had decided that this was as good a place as any to stop for whatever passes for lunch.

Truth be told, Catra is hopelessly lost already. Between her mindless dash and the way that the woods seem to shift around her, Adora’s map is more useful as a sentimental comfort than an actual navigation tool most of the time. She knows that there should be a stream around here somewhere, that following it back to its source high in the mountains is probably as good a way to her destination as any. How far had she run? Had she hopped over her only landmark without realizing it? Bypassed it completely in the miles that she had covered scrambling through treetops after her paranoia convinced her that there were soldiers tracking her on the ground?

Catra lets her head fall back against the rough bark of the tree, pressing her claws into the cool grass. Based on the light streaming through the canopy it must be late afternoon by now. If she had really run at full pace for that long, she should be far enough from the Fright Zone to be safe. It would take them at least a day to catch up, if they were even going to send anyone after her. She would be long gone by then. She lets her body relax a bit, slumping against the tree and slowly lowering herself to the ground.

The logical part of Catra’s brain is telling her that this was as good a place as any to make camp for the night, that she had already pushed herself too far today and she should let herself rest. Try to find the river tomorrow well-rested and with a full stomach.

The  _ less _ rational part of Catra’s brain takes over, however. She can’t stop now, can’t give the woods more opportunities to shift around her and take her farther away from her goal. Most of all, even if she won’t admit it, some part of her can’t bear the thought of falling asleep alone without any kind of progress to show for it.

Catra closes her eyes, swivelling her ears from side to side to capture as much of the forest soundscape as possible. The wind is picking up, not much more than a low rustling through the trees right now, but maybe a storm later. There’s a small animal running through the undergrowth not far from her, a bird squawking in the distance. She strains out to the very edge of her range.  _ There _ . Just barely. A trickle of water over some rocks. It’s not much, but it’s better than anything else she has to go on right now.

She pushes herself up on the branch that she’s converted into a makeshift walking stick. Everything still hurts so much, and her legs are so tired and shaking that it’s a struggle to stand even with assistance, but she has a direction now. Just a little further, she tells herself.

Catra barely makes it 100 feet before she collapses in the dirt.


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Catra! Wait!” the desperate voice calls down the corridor after her, and it takes everything she has in her to resist turning to it. Eyes up. One foot in front of the other. Just a little bit further. If she stops now, even for a second, she may never be able to make herself start again. _

_ There’s a pause, hesitation before the footsteps start running down the corridor after her, closer and closer. She keeps pressing forward, but they catch up. A hand grabs the top of her bag, pulling her back. _

There’s a hand on the top of her backpack, straps straining against her shoulders. Someone is dragging her slowly through the grass.

_ “Please, Catra, I’m not going to try to stop you, not now, I just-” Adora’s voice cuts off but her hand still grips Catra’s backpack like she might blow away in the wind if she lets go. She doesn’t release the hold until Catra starts to turn around. Her eyes are striking, even cast down to the floor like they are now, tears and shadows bringing out the grey in them like she’s just woken up. _

_ Catra’s gaze shifts down, following her shoulders to the line of her outstretched arm, down to her trembling hand. The blanket is neatly folded twice into a rectangle and rolled into a small bundle, a colorful piece of woven cord wrapped around it - had Adora made that herself? _

_ “I-I know it's not much, but-” and it’s true, it really isn’t. It’s the same standard-issue blanket that every cadet gets. But Adora knows what it means to Catra. She knows that she’s found her friend wrapped up in that blanket far too many times to count, whether Adora had just been stuck on cleanup duty or Catra had a particularly bad encounter with Shadow Weaver while they were apart. She could almost swear that it’s glowing slightly, but it must be a trick of the light. _

_ It’s a small gesture, but that’s all she and Adora have ever been able to have, isn’t it? Catra had been dreading this since they started planning her escape weeks ago. As much as Adora had thrown herself into the preparation, Catra had seen the change in the way that she looked at her, the way she held on for just a second longer than she would have let herself under normal circumstances. _

_ Some of the weight lifts from Catra’s chest as her own shaking hands place the bundle in her bag. No matter what happens next, she’ll at least have a little piece of Adora with her. They walk hand in hand into the cool night air of the skiff dock. Adora’s golden hair is down, and there’s just enough breeze for it to flow behind her slightly as they prepare the skiff. Catra is reaching down to pry open the console so she can hotwire it when Adora stops her, dangling the keys from her fingers with a mischievous smile. _

_ “How did you-” _

_ “What do you think, dumbass? I stole them from the office. Did you think I volunteered for the most boring desk job in the entire horde for fun or something?” Catra feels something like pride well up within her. Clearly some part of her was going to stay with Adora, too. She crosses to the other end of the skiff, and Adora slips the keys into her fingers before wrapping her in a tight hug. Catra reciprocates, pressing her face into Adora’s shoulder as the dam breaks, the tears she’s held back all night pouring out. _

_ She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but she’s thankful that Adora is the first one to break the embrace. She doesn’t know if she would have ever found the strength. _

_ “C’mon, as much as I’d love to, we can’t stay here all night. You’ve got a home to find, remember?”  _ Home _ , Catra thinks as she turns to look out across the wastes. That’s what she’s looking for, isn’t it? “I’ll see you again, promise.” Adora says with a squeeze of Catra’s hand. Catra doesn’t know which one of them the reassurance was meant for. _

_ The skiff lifts itself gently on a cushion of air as it hums to life- _

Catra is being lifted, but it’s shaky. She can feel her legs dragging on something soft. She tries to strike out with her claws, but the weak flail her body manages to muster is easily caught as she’s laid down.

_ Catra carefully maneuvers the skiff out of it’s bay, nose pointing straight out from the fright zone, and dials up her speed until she’s cruising at a gentle pace, hoping that the night guards don’t hear the engines. Adora stays there, gripping the railing like a lifeline, until long after Catra can register her as anything more than a speck in the distance. Her home is out here somewhere, so why does it feel like she left her heart back on the dock? _

_ You should have told her, Catra’s brain screams at her as Adora disappears from view. She slams the throttle forward to full speed, and lets the roar of the thrusters drown out her thoughts. _

  
  


The first thing that Catra feels is the warm light hitting her face, dragging her back into consciousness. Groaning, she brings her arm up to cover her eyes as she turns away.

“Ughhhhhhh, five more minutes, Adora? I will never understand why you insist on getting up half an hour before wake up call” she mutters, voice low and gravelly. She flops over to her other side, burying her face deeper in the covers as she waits for Adora’s usual speech about  _ preparedness _ and  _ doing more than the bare minimum _ . It never comes.

When Catra reaches for where her friend should be, she finds nothing but an expanse of blankets, and the memories start coming back to her. Saying goodbye to Adora on the docks. Shooting across the wastes. Crashing the skiff and dashing through the woods, getting herself horrendously lost in the process.  _ But then how the hell did she end up in a bed? _

Still feigning sleep, Catra listens for any sort of clue to where she is. It sure doesn’t  _ sound _ like any horde facility she’s ever been in, much too quiet for that. Maybe one of the outlying villages had found her and decided she’d be worth keeping as a captive? They were probably going to be disappointed, in that case. They’re also not very good at taking prisoners, since they appear to have left her alone in the room. The only sign of anyone else nearby is creaking floorboards and the sporadic sounds of metal on metal in another room.

Carefully, Catra cracks her eyes open, rubbing the sleep out of them. As if her situation couldn’t get any more confusing, she realizes that the place she has found herself in is not a prison, but a  _ house _ . The room is cluttered, but nonetheless comfortable, the same warm light that had been hitting her face earlier streaming through the window gives the entire place a soft glow, completely unlike the stark, shadowy barracks that she’d spent her life in up to this point.

The next thing that hits her is the smell coming from the other room. It’s  _ sweet _ , so much sweeter than anything she’s ever experienced. Her mouth is watering now, even though she has no idea what it is. Maybe, just maybe, she can get a jump on whoever this person is and steal some on her way out. It isn’t until she tries to push herself up on her arms to make a move that the pain comes back to her, falling back into the soft bed with a soft grunt.  _ Fuck. _

The noises in the other room stop abruptly.

_ Fuckkkkkkkkk.  _ Catra pushes the pain down and unsheathes her claws, readying for a fight.

“Catra dearie, is that you? I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up. Come on, you’re just in time for pie!” The voice is high but soft, worlds away from Shadow Weaver’s shriek which practically seems  _ designed _ to grate on her hearing. Catra has so many questions- how on etheria does this woman know her  _ name _ for starters- but she doesn’t seem to pose an immediate threat, Catra thinks as she lowers herself from the bed and stumbles to the kitchen, joints stiff from sleep.

The woman comes into view as Catra rounds the corner. She’s about the same height, maybe a little shorter, frizzy white hair reaching down to the floor. Thick, round glasses sit on top of her nose, and the warm smile she gives as she motions Catra to one of the chairs in the center of the kitchen is maybe the most baffling part of this entire experience so far. The plate in front of it is piled high with things that it takes a moment for Catra to register as  _ food _ , real, actual food, and more of it than she’s seen in her entire life to this point combined.

“Are you not hungry dear? You did sleep for an entire week, so I was assuming…” Catra’s eyes shoot wide. This strange woman had just… taken care of her? For an entire week?

“It’s not that it’s just- How did I get here? Who are you?” The woman tilts her head at that, a mix of confusion and concern on her face.

“I’m Razz, dear, you must be more out of it than I thought if you managed to forget  _ that _ ,” the woman laughs as she sets a warm mug of something next to Catra’s plate. “You simply must be more careful, I can only imagine the lecture Mara would be giving you if she was here” One question resolved, two more to figure out. Great. “Eat first, yes? You can tell me how you wound up out there later.” Catra has to fight back the urge to flinch as Razz pats her on the shoulder softly.

  
  
  
  


“Of  _ course _ I knew she was lying, Hordak. Do you take me for a fool?” The tendril of shadow lashes out from her cloak to strike the display screen, the spider web of cracks putting an abrupt end to their conversation.

She hadn’t known, actually. Not soon enough, at least. Usually when Adora lies, it's incredibly obvious. The girl can’t act to save her life. But apparently saving  _ Catra’s _ life was a different matter. Her face twists into a scowl under her mask. She may not be able to dispose of that useless stowaway as easily as she had thought.

_ But where could you have run to? _ She ponders as she glides across her workspace and traces her fingers along the map. The search team had reported footprints heading into the whispering woods at a northwest heading, and none of their scouts at the Plumerian border had reported anything, so it was unlikely that she had changed course once she was in the woods. But there was no reason for her to stay the course and head for Dryl. The only other thing in that direction was –  _ ah. _ Of course that was where she was going.

Weaver is laughing to herself as she forwards the message to the chief of the Trawi garrison. This was going to be substantially more interesting than she had expected, at least.

  
  
  
  


“ –And that’s how I wound up out there, I guess. Back to square one.” Catra’s reflection stares back at her from her tea as she finishes the story. It’s not like her to open up to someone other than Adora like this but it feels… good, in a weird way. Like at least a little bit of weight has been lifted from her shoulders. And something about Razz that she can’t quite place just makes her feel  _ safe _ , even if the woman is obviously crazy. Maybe it was the food talking.

Razz turns to look out the window. The woods are empty as far as the eye can see, but Razz still stares out into the trees like she can see something that Catra can’t. The light is different now, sun high and shining straight down through the gaps in the canopy and tracing the silhouettes of branches on the ground.

“You’re never  _ lost _ in the whispering woods, dear” Razz says, like she’s talking to the trees as much as she is Catra. Catra cocks her head to the side and starts to raise an objection, but Razz cuts her off with a wave before the words can leave her mouth.

“Close your eyes and  _ listen _ . You can still hear the stream, can’t you?” Catra complies, closing her eyes and sending her hearing out once again. Past the sounds of the house settling, past the birds outside the window, past the wind rustling through the trees. And there it is. That  _ can’t _ be right. Razz had dragged her back the way she came, away from where she had heard it before. But somehow it sounded undeniably closer now, like it would be maybe a half-hour’s walk from the house. 

“I can but that doesn’t make  _ sense, _ it was‒” Catra stammers out. Razz just turns to look at her with a soft smile, like all of this is perfectly normal and understandable, reaching across the table to take her hand gently.

“You see? The woods will always take you where you  _ need _ to be. You are here because the woods decided that this is where you needed to be, and when they decide that you are ready to go to Halfmoon, you will find your way.” Catra nods, something about the words ringing true even if she doesn’t fully understand them. There’s a reverence to the way that Razz speaks about the woods, almost like they’re a person in their own right, some kind of massive living organism that can bend space to its will.

“How will I know? When I need it?” Catra asks.

“No way to know without trying, dear. But your destination sounds closer now, yes? That’s a good sign. You can stay here as long as you like, but if your strength has returned I would understand if you wish to set out again.” Catra hadn’t realized until now, but the pain and exhaustion had seemingly drained from her body over the course of their meal. 

Catra contemplates as she sips the last of her tea, still-warm mug cradled in her hands. The house feels warm, and  _ safe _ , and some part of her doesn’t want to leave. She can’t even consciously remember the last time she felt like this. But that’s why she’s out here, isn’t it? Chasing that feeling? The only thing to do is press on. She pushes her chair back from the table and moves back to the other room to collect her things.

Her pack leaned up against the bed, and the top flap was clearly opened at some point while she was out. Her blanket- Adora’s blanket- dangles from the edge of the mattress.

“Ah yes,” Razz chuckles from behind her, “You were tossing awfully hard the first night, even tried to take a swipe at me a few times. Wouldn’t calm down until I gave that thing to you. Must be important, hm?” Catra has never been more thankful for the fact that her fur is so good at hiding her blushing. As she carefully folds the blanket back into the pack, she sees that Madame Razz has taken the liberty of supplementing her ration bars with a few pouches of snacks. Some kind of dried meat, it looked like. She pulls the pack over her shoulders and makes her way to the doorway before stopping. One question has been nagging her ever since she woke up, and she needs to know the answer before she can go on.

“Hey Razz? One last question. When you found me out there… why did you save me?” Her whole life, it's been drilled into Catra that showing any kind of weakness is a surefire way to earn a beating. Adora had been the only person who could ever know that she was sick, or help her patch up a cut, or even see her cry. But Madame Razz looks at her sideways, like it’s ridiculous to even ask the question.

“Well dearie, for starters I don’t think that your wife would be very happy with me if she found out that I left you to die in the woods” she laughs. Catra stops in her tracks. She’s vaguely aware that  _ wife _ is the kind of formal term of endearment that they don’t really have in the Horde. And besides, there’s only one person who Catra could ever see herself referring to that way, and she’s pretty certain that Adora wouldn’t feel the same even if they  _ do _ see each other again. Razz must have just gone crazy from living out here for so long. They say their goodbyes, Razz gives her a warm hug, and Catra sets out into the whispering woods once more.

Catra looks at the map one last time before tucking it into the side of her bag. She doesn’t need it anymore, not for navigation at least, and she knows it’s useless out here. Catra stands in the middle of a clearing, afternoon sun warming her fur, and remembers what Razz said about trusting the woods, letting them take you where you need to go. She closes her eyes, letting her feet carry her towards the sound of the stream.

She doesn’t know how long she walks like that, the distant trickle of water gradually getting louder and louder in her ears, but it gives her a lot of time to think. What’s Adora doing right now? Catra wishes desperately that they had figured out some way to at least let each other know that they were safe, but trying to get a message in or out of the fright zone was basically impossible. You couldn’t exactly send a postcard, after all. What will it be like when she arrives in Halfmoon? She tries to envision herself reuniting with long forgotten parents and friends. Will they even remember  _ her _ ? Will she be able to adjust to life there again after so many years away?

Her worries dissipate at least momentarily when one foot suddenly finds water, scrambling backwards on instinct as she opens her eyes. The stream is right in front of her now, somehow, and Catra has long since stopped questioning distance here. It’s twilight now, the weather clear enough that she isn’t overly worried about finding shelter. Eager to avoid repeating her previous mistake, she decides that this is as good a place to make camp as any, finding a comfortable spot in a tree and wrapping herself in the blanket, sliding her pack onto one of the branches by its straps. With what Razz gave her, she should have enough supplies to make the three day’s journey to Trawi, the town at the base of the mountain. She could refresh them there, and then go looking for Halfmoon. It would have been better to explain it to someone else, but running through her plan again eases her mind like it always has.

  
  
  
  


_ “Catra! Wait!” Her voice is breaking. High tones bouncing off harsh metal, repeating out into nothingness. _

_ Catra doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn, doesn’t even react. Just keeps walking further and further into the black like her voice didn’t even register. She wants to give chase, delay her if only for a moment, but her legs feel like they’re deep in mud. _

_ Finally, just as Catra is about to disappear completely, she finds the strength to move. One foot in front of the other with everything that she has in her, the noise of her steps thudding on the floor nearly overwhelming her hearing. She’s closer now but it’s not nearly enough. Just a little bit faster. _

_ She’s just barely in arms reach now. She strains, scrambling for purchase at the loop on Catra’s backpack. It comes apart in her hand, dissipating into a formless black slipping between her fingers as Catra keeps moving unabated. _

_ She reaches out again, aiming for Catra’s shoulder this time. Her hand passes through again, leaving a hole. Her swipes are getting more and more frantic, taking chunks out of Catra’s midsection, her arms, her neck, but nothing works. She’s coated in the black substance now, hands practically invisible and her entire front splattered in it as she drops to her knees sobbing while what’s left of Catra disappears into the darkness. _

The tears are still pouring down Adora’s face when she shoots upright, nearly hitting her head on the bunk above her. The room is silent, save for the low industrial hum that occupies every corner of the Fright Zone.  _ It’s only a nightmare, you’re safe. Just breathe. _ She repeats the words she’s used so many times under her breath as she pulls the blanket tight around her. It still smells like her, but it’s not  _ enough _ .

She makes a quick scan of the room. Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio are all sleeping peacefully, at least. She feels a pang of guilt looking at them. The first night, she had woken up screaming, startling them out of what little sleep they were permitted. She had expected a beating, and some part of her still felt she deserved one. Instead, they had spent the remainder of the night sleeping in shifts to keep an eye on her, shaking her awake before the dreams could get too real. It wasn’t  _ entirely _ selfless, to be fair. Multiple screaming incidents would have drawn the kind of attention that none of them wanted, but Adora was still embarrassed to need the help, still felt like she was letting her team down.

The thoughts linger in Adora’s mind as she pulls on a shirt and slips off to the storage room to punch her way back into exhaustion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "the chapter might be late because I'm doing finals" I said, knowing full well I was going to procrastinate studying to write the chapter. Also, removing estimated chapter count because I've had some more ideas and no longer know how long this is gonna be.
> 
> Thanks again for all of the kudos and comments on the first chapter, see you next week <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first time writing anything beyond a one-shot, and I'm hoping to update once a week, but I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Thanks again to Sathroe for beta reading this for me!


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